


The one time Cullen Rutherford didn't completely hate an Orlesian party

by mnemosius



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Pre-Slash, leading up to it at the end, might add more chapters if people are interested but yeah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-05-01 13:26:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5207501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mnemosius/pseuds/mnemosius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a few years since the Inquisition disbanded. Cullen, much to his chagrin, is still playing the game and expected to attend those few events Divine Leliana invites him to. He doesn't expect to enjoy this one any more than the others, but when a familiar face shows up, he might have to reconsider.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The one time Cullen Rutherford didn't completely hate an Orlesian party

After the Trevelyan disbanded the Inquisition in light of Solas - No, Fen’harel’s - revelation and set off on her own path, the ragtag members of the Inquisition’s inner circle and advisers went their own way as well. Some of them went on to achieve great things - nobody quite expected Varric to lead, well, anything, but they were all duly impressed. Others settled for a less demanding lifestyle, happy to let their time on the pages of history books come to a close. Cullen, unfortunately, was not one of them. 

No, apparently serving as the commander of an international organization’s army made one’s experience “invaluable,” and so as much as Cullen was truly, desperately ready to be left alone with Commander, his mabari - and no, the credit to that name went to Sera, who thought of it and then called the mabari nothing else until it had well and truly stuck - he was still pressured to attend endless meetings and councils, and worst of all, parties. Orlesian parties. Divine Leliana was always delighted to have an opportunity to stuff him into another too-tight suit and parade him around, and the Orlesians - Sweet Maker, not again - were all too eager to grab at his ass and make incredibly invasive comments. 

All was not lost. Cullen’s friends might not have been here to keep attention off him, but he had managed to maneuver himself into a corner where he could be sure no one could grope him without him seeing it coming. And there was wine. He’d survive this. Lady Josephine was here as well as a personal favor for the Divine, and she flashed him sympathetic looks whenever her whirlwind pace took her by his retreat. And Leliana was no doubt holding court somewhere, but Cullen had never quite been able to get over discomfort of thinking of the Divine as someone he was allowed to be friends with. Too many templar lessons in his youth, perhaps. 

Still, Cullen thought as yet another masked woman made overtures that weren’t nearly as veiled as her appearance, it could be worse. All he had to do was keep his head up, smile when the situation absolutely demanded it, and otherwise clutch as his wineglass like the lifeline it truly was. He couldn’t even remember what this party was about, anyway - something to do with recent diplomatic successes, he thought, no doubt due to Briala’s continuing efforts. All he knew was that it apparently required him to stand around looking pretty, and he was starting to feel a little too old for that. 

There was a sudden flurry of activity as yet another guest of importance made their entrance into the palace, no doubt decked out in all the finery that a visit to Halamshiral demanded. That man with the nasally voice and the list stepped forward. 

“Magister Dorian Pavus, of the Tevinter Imperium.”

Cullen paused mid-drink. Well. That was unexpected, and that he hadn’t been aware of Dorian’s attendance to the party before this moment had Leliana’s influence written all over it. Back when everyone had still been at Skyhold, Cullen had been holding a bit of a torch for the admittedly dashing mage. Even if he was truly terrible at chess and at cheating, the banter with him had been lively and delightful in a way that only matching blades with a truly talented opponent had ever made him feel. As spymaster for the Inquisition, Leliana, naturally, had taken it upon herself to ferret out Cullen’s affection for the other man, and had pestered him about confessing his feelings to Dorian all the way up until when Dorian had returned to his homeland. 

He realized absentmindedly that the noble in front of him had clearly been waiting for a response for quite some time, and managed a quick smile and a noncommittal grunt before excusing himself. It wasn’t quite possible to actually cut a path to the entrance where Dorian was no doubt holding court in the way he seemed made to do, but Cullen managed to weave his way in and out of the conversational circles in a little under fifteen minutes, just in time for the first glimpse of Dorian’s face he’d had in years, surprisingly striking with longer hair, head tilted back with laughter. 

Cullen knew he could be caught staring as the other man continued to laugh and smile, but he didn’t care. He hadn’t been ready for just how much he’d missed hearing Dorian’s laugh. The smile playing across his lips just from that was the first genuine one he’d had in a long time. 

As luck would have it, Dorian caught sight of Cullen before he could either disappear back into the crowd or summon up the courage to - well, he wasn’t sure what. Dorian’s stormy-grey eyes widened slightly, and his smile turned glorious.

“If it isn’t dear Commander Cullen Rutherford himself, as I live and breathe,” Dorian said, moving forward to clasp Cullen on the arm, the delight in his voice evident. “I can’t say I was expecting to see your face tonight, and now that I have I must say my mood has much improved.”

Cullen blinked and forced himself out of the happy daze he’d fallen into when Dorian had touched him. “Magister Pavus,” he managed, already feeling the heat rising behind his cheeks. He hadn’t missed this part as much. 

“Oh, such decorum!” Dorian said, all mock gasps and surprise. “I think we can agree that most people here should stick to the titles, as they try to. But really, what use is decorum among friends?”

Cullen smiled and shook his head. “I’ve missed you, Dorian. I’m glad to see you’re doing well.”

“And I you,” Dorian said, returning the smile. “I insist you accompany onto the balcony. I’ve no business to attend to for the next three hours at least, and” he added, giving a look to the surrounding Orlesians that perfectly straddled the borders of humor and disdain, “I find myself growing weary of all the masks already. Come, join me.” He held out an arm, and Cullen slipped his own around it, the gesture somehow familiar. Together they strolled out to the balcony, where Dorian turned back to face him, his smile softening and becoming a little more genuine.

“It truly is marvelous to see you again, Commander,” Dorian said, and Cullen really wasn’t sure how much more of this he could manage, not if Dorian was choosing honesty over his gilded tongue. “I didn’t quite realize how much I’d miss all of you when I returned to Tevinter. As it turns out, actively trying to shift the political climate does not do much for earning friendly faces.”

Cullen snorted. “No, I imagine not. What brings you to Orlais?”

“Politics and mostly ceremonial negotiations, of course,” Dorian said cheerfully. “Some things never change.” He swept himself into a low bow, and then bounded back up. “You, dear Commander, are looking at the Magister most recently instated as Chief Ambassador to Orlais.” Dorian shrugged. “A rather obvious ploy to keep the revolutionary at a safe distance, of course, but it does afford me enough influence that the old fools cannot simply ignore me. And it means I get to spend a little more time in this charming nation of liars and bored nobility.” He paused. “Just like home, really, only with more masks and less magic.”

Cullen blinked at the sudden flow of words. “Does…” he began hopefully, “does that mean you’ll be spending some time over here?”

“Oh, certainly,” Dorian said with a smile. “Had a manor bought and everything, just near the border between civilization and whatever you call that charming little dog-obsessed country of yours.” The warmth of his voice made his humor clear. “Two years at the least, I’d imagine, and perhaps more, once we determine how to make those damned eluvians work reliably.”

Cullen couldn’t help his grin. “Really? Perhaps I won’t have to suffer these events alone anymore, then.” He paused and turned red. “Not that I’m, er, thinking of you as a means to avoid suffering of course, or, well. Um.”

Dorian laughed delightedly. “Why, Commander, you haven’t changed a bit! Yes,” he said with a gleam in his eye, “I rather imagine we will be seeing more of each other from now on. If you’re good, I might even invite you to come visit.”

Cullen licked his lips slightly without noticing. Here went nothing. “And what, ah, might I do to earn such an invitation?”

Dorian’s eyes widened, and then he gave Cullen a hesitant smile. “Pardon me if I’m wrong, Commander, but it sounded like you just flirted with me.”

“I, er, might have?” Cullen said, running his fingers through his hair nervously. Of course his damn stutter would choose to resurface now. “If that’s okay, I mean.”

Dorian gave him an evaluating look. “You’re serious, aren’t you,” he murmured. 

Cullen felt his face grow hot again. “Sorry. I’ll just go.” He felt Dorian’s hand wrap around his wrist just as he turned.

“No, don’t,” Dorian said softly. “I simply wasn’t expecting you to express any interest, you see.” He stepped a little closer, shrinking the distance between them to next to nothing. “I would not,” he said, and Cullen could feel the soft puff of breath on his throat, Sweet Maker, “object to your interests. Not at all.”

Cullen steeled himself, and then produced the one trump card he knew he could still play. He smirked, and was rewarded with a slight coloring of Dorian’s cheeks. “Then I’ve made my intentions clear, Magister. I do hope you don’t mind being pursued by one of those unwashed Fereldans, of course. I’ve heard they’re such unsubtle people.”

Dorian’s eyes sparkled. “I imagine I could be persuaded to see their better nature,” he said with a smile. “And what about you? Can the noble ex-templar tolerate the presence of an evil mage under no control save his own?”

“I think I can manage it,” Cullen agreed, and leaned forward to close the distance. 

Perhaps something good could come of these pointless events after all.


End file.
